"Gravity, a mysterious carriage of the body to conceal the defects of the mind" - ezra pound
Notes on a Sunday afternoon:
What would be left of an edge if there was no space to embrace it? The sharpness of my existence is embellished by the space I carve around myself with the help of a heat of a mortal body. Would the ever increasing vertical abyss indicate an internal decay as when the blood rushes to the surface of the skin and the inner organs are left cold and almost lifeless? Such is a feeling of near emptiness –carcass with a promise to carry out a purpose but is there one greater than to separate a minor crack from an absolute one?
My body, a body that is well nourished and maintained, is craving for intangible matter. Looked after and preserved without the thought of a greater purpose it has spoken with a voice of a maltreated adult as if giving an account of the incidents of childhood. A body which is so aware of its senses and the numerous processes they produce that it often focuses on the joys of using those senses and is oblivious to the changes they incur. Oh which are so irreplaceable and often invisible to the soul yet most vital to one’s survival.
Craving dedication to life. Yes, same life out there filled with specimens of differing natures most of whom are embarrassing and disgraceful, yet heavenly and worthy of praise.
Why do we have to choose between the philosophical and the practical? It is not a choice vital to one’s physical survival....by far…And yet it is one that while or if neglected will weigh with the heaviness of infinity. [Is it her fault then to carry off such divine beauty that the passers by turn their heads and marvel at something she did not create, nor achieve? They praise the thing that was there without her being aware or willing to embrace and use it. An aristocrat of the mind with a face of a goddess. Little do I care about the manner she employs to make sense of the living and the lived…or do I really? Keeping our minds, my mind, on the subject shall be the primal task. Revisit the present to define beauty…is it really…aptness to purpose?..]
my sin. not going deep enough. not treading gently enough. not caring enough. not..
Notes on a Sunday afternoon:
What would be left of an edge if there was no space to embrace it? The sharpness of my existence is embellished by the space I carve around myself with the help of a heat of a mortal body. Would the ever increasing vertical abyss indicate an internal decay as when the blood rushes to the surface of the skin and the inner organs are left cold and almost lifeless? Such is a feeling of near emptiness –carcass with a promise to carry out a purpose but is there one greater than to separate a minor crack from an absolute one?
My body, a body that is well nourished and maintained, is craving for intangible matter. Looked after and preserved without the thought of a greater purpose it has spoken with a voice of a maltreated adult as if giving an account of the incidents of childhood. A body which is so aware of its senses and the numerous processes they produce that it often focuses on the joys of using those senses and is oblivious to the changes they incur. Oh which are so irreplaceable and often invisible to the soul yet most vital to one’s survival.
Craving dedication to life. Yes, same life out there filled with specimens of differing natures most of whom are embarrassing and disgraceful, yet heavenly and worthy of praise.
Why do we have to choose between the philosophical and the practical? It is not a choice vital to one’s physical survival....by far…And yet it is one that while or if neglected will weigh with the heaviness of infinity. [Is it her fault then to carry off such divine beauty that the passers by turn their heads and marvel at something she did not create, nor achieve? They praise the thing that was there without her being aware or willing to embrace and use it. An aristocrat of the mind with a face of a goddess. Little do I care about the manner she employs to make sense of the living and the lived…or do I really? Keeping our minds, my mind, on the subject shall be the primal task. Revisit the present to define beauty…is it really…aptness to purpose?..]
my sin. not going deep enough. not treading gently enough. not caring enough. not..
posted by Taskas @ 11:54 AM
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